


Jumping

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Epilepsy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: Jumping.That’s what John called the phenomenon of absence seizures. While his brain paused, rendering him unconscious, the world kept going. When he came to just seconds later, people and things have moved considerably. Or jumped.





	Jumping

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: Could you write about John with epilepsy? My husband has it and it can super stressful to deal with

Jumping.

That’s what John called the phenomenon of absence seizures. While his brain paused, rendering him unconscious, the world kept going. When he came to just seconds later, people and things have moved considerably. Or jumped.

Like that time Freddie was laughing at a joke and then seconds later was halfway across the room, drinking water. Or the time Brian was discussing a song and seconds later, was quiet, looking at his fingernails.

Jumping or absence seizures weren’t so bad. John would freeze up for a few seconds but wake up and immediately recover, leaving him able to do pretty much anything he wanted to. Stairs were daunting when the episodes were frequent, but other than that, no big deal.

That was the part of his epilepsy he didn’t care too much for. Easy to handle, and most importantly, easy for others to handle. ‘Spacing out’ was of no concern to those around him. Just make sure John doesn’t fall over or slip if you notice he’s having an episode, but really, it’s a nonissue.

The issue was the type of seizures that popped into everyone’s mind when they saw the word Epilepsy.

John was proud to say his convulsive seizures happened far and few in between. Only in times of stress did he really have to worry about an episode.

And who knew being in an internationally famous band was stressful?

“That sounds hideous,” Roger said, voice rising in pitch as the tensions in the recording studio grew.

“Maybe to you, but that’s how I wrote it and it sounds nice,” Brian snapped, eyes narrowed at the drummer who sat tall on his stool.

“It could afford to be quieter,” Freddie threw into the debate, not necessarily wanting to get in the midst of a Roger-Brian spat. They were ugly.

“Oh fuck getting quiet. It’s atrocious and should be cut entirely! Have you all lost your bloody ears?” Roger erupted, throwing his drum sticks on the floor.

All the while, John was in a corner, not saying a single thing. He didn’t like fighting, really. Not unless he found it imperative. He preferred to let the others toss hands while he just watched. 

Today he was tired though. The whole entire session had been nothing more than petty fights and venomous quips, for  _hours_. The sun had long since set and they’ve been at it since 12pm. Not only was he plagued with a significant annoyance, he was hungry as all hell.

If only the other 3 could just shut up and play whats on the paper, they could all be home now.

But nooo. Roger always has to say something and Brian has to be the ass he is and Freddie just revels in fanning the flames.

John rolled his eyes as they all started getting into it for what seemed like the 40th time.  _Bite your tongue, John_ ….

Not today!

“Can you all  _ **please**_ shut the hell up and either play what’s on the goddamn papers or can we all just go home already?” he exploded, not even realizing all those words had erupted from his mouth.

Everyone went wide eyed, a few mouths popping open into surprised ‘o’s. You’d think that would be enough to get them all to act like adults but John had unwittingly entered his name into the match.

“Oh, so then you agree the section is good, Deacy?” Brian was the first to pipe up, finding the outburst to be a point for his team.

“That is not what he meant and you know it, you bastard!” Roger yelled incredulously.

Most people would’ve ripped their hair out from the idiocy, but John was busy with the sudden feeling of his fingers breaking.

Every joint felt like it had snapped in a grotesque manner, a familiar and hot pain searing from his digits all the way into his core.  His stomach erupted in butterflies, the one you get not after a kiss but when your roller coaster is about to drop from it’s highest peak.

And then, John didn’t feel anything.

♚

“You two ne- oh shit!” Freddie yelped when they all heard a thump and the chaotic strumming of bass strings.

John was on the ground in a heap, body starting to shake. 

This wasn’t any of their first rodeos, so they knew the drill. Didn’t make it any less scary.

Before the seizing got bad, they took off his bass, putting it aside. Roger made busy work of clearing the area around John, whose eyes were rolled back, foam already frothing at the mouth.

Brian tasked himself with watching the clock. No more than 5 minutes, he reminded himself. If John seized for longer, they needed to call an ambulance. 

Freddie put a jacket under John’s head just in time for the thrashing to grow particularly violent. His limbs tightened and relaxed, flailed and flopped. His head wouldn’t stop jerking from side to side, his torso popping off the ground in a manner that looked painful.

Of course, it wasn’t painful. It was something that took a few episodes for them to solidify. John was completely unconscious and couldn’t feel a single thing. There was no need to try and comfort him during an active seizure. They’d only be putting him or themselves in danger.

It still was a hard thing to feel in their hearts, watching as his lips turned blue or he gasped for air. They all were just thankful he wasn’t awake to experience it.

It was only 2 minutes and 27 seconds exactly, according to Brian, when John finally stopped. He went limp like a ragdoll on the carpet and that’s when they all approached him.

Freddie mopped up the sweat and spit with a towel. Roger petted his hair, talking to John to get him to wake up and Brian was rubbing John’s knee.

John was always bad at waking up. He took an hour or more to have complete clarity. He’d be in a daze or state of confusion for so long, mumbling the whole time about needing sleep.

They all knew this naturally and just needed John to show that he was okay before he was allowed to sleep.

“Wake up sweet boy,” Roger cooed as the youngest murmured absolute nonsense. 

“Yes, wake up, sweetheart. You’re safe and fine. Just wake up so we know you’re well, alright, Deacy?” Freddie said, now smoothing circles over John’s chest. 

It wasn’t 20 minutes before John said anything intelligible.

“Floor,” he slurred.

“You’re on the floor, John. You had a seizure. Are you with us?” Brian chimed in, a break from all the sweet talk to two mother hens were doing.

“Seizure?” John groaned. He still was far from being 100% conscious but he seemed to be coming around a lot faster than usual.

“Yes, mate. You had a seizure. Everything is alright though. Not even a bruise on you,” Roger answered, giving his cheeks some light smacks to see if that’d rouse him up faster.

“Sleep,” was John’s last words before the rotter fell asleep. 

♚

“Careful, Deacy, careful,” the other 3 said as they helped a considerably awake John to his feet.

His eyes were alert, looking around the room squinted, as if trying to piece together how he wound up convulsing on the floor.

Once stood up, John leaned against Freddie who had his arms wrapped around the bassist tightly. He let out a sigh and crinkled his nose, the post-seizure feel being just slightly better than having a full blown flu.

His head pounded. His muscles were sore and some pulled. His brain still felt wacky and all he wanted was to sleep for a week straight.

Freddie asked if he felt safe to go home or if he needed to go to hospital. No matter how miserable a seizure was, this was pretty normal in terms of an episode. So no doctors, just a king sized mattress, please.

Being the concerned friends they were, they  _all_ drove John home, led him into bed and tucked him in. It wasn’t necessary, but they stayed a few hours afterwards, making sure he was okay and didn’t seize again. Maybe concerned friends wasn’t the right word.

More like guilty.

They knew stress was John’s biggest trigger, but selfishly they had all bickered like children all day, even when it was apparent he was getting weary. And for what? For John to suffer.

They all came to that realization quietly, twiddling their thumbs and anxiously twirling their hair. 

When they all met up again at John’s house the next morning, that was the first thing out of their mouths. An apology.

John sat up in bed, craving at least another 24 hours more of sleep, but he listened, nodding every so often as his bandmates confessed their sins.

He put on one of his infamous Deacy smiles, lips tucked in and eye crinkles deep and said, “It’s alright, guys. I should’ve said something, y’know? It’s not your faults.”

Roger shook his head, a hand squeezing John’s shoulders. “Naw, it’s our faults too. We never wanna be the reason you drop like that again. We’ll promise to be more civil,” he said, blue eyes sad.

There was nothing for him to be mad about, but he accepted their apology, shrugging off last night’s fiasco. 

Well, almost.

“Now that I am saying things I feel, I do have something to tell you all. Brian, that section you want  _is_ horrid,”

“Oh go to hell, John,”


End file.
